


Hold On To What We've Got

by GotTheSilver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:43:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 15,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stand alone fics originally posted on Tumblr.  Check notes for warnings, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles, future fic. Mature.

The heat is cloying as the pack lazes in the garden, blazing sun beating down. Shrieks fill the air as Isaac and Cora chase the kids through the sprinklers, they’re half shifted, like they only get to do around pack, occasionally mock fighting, and Derek watches them all with a smile on his face as he flips burgers at the grill, sizzling sparks of fat occasionally hitting his arm when he gets distracted. Sometimes Derek can’t help the way his eyes track Stiles on a hot summer day like this.

After lunch, Boyd corrals the kids into a semi-violent game of touch football, Scott taking the opposing team. Derek looks up when Kayla yelps like she’s in pain, but she’s soon up, chasing Scott and leaping onto his back in an attempt to bring him down. He takes a swig of his beer and watches Stiles on the porch with Allison. Stiles’ long legs are outstretched, trying to catch the sun as he and Allison talk about the last pack to visit them and Derek can tell Stiles is only half paying attention. His shirt is off as he leans back on his elbows, face turned to the sky, sunglasses he stole from Derek covering his eyes.

*

Derek’s not thrilled by fireworks, but the kids love the colours and Stiles keeps telling him he’s a sucker, so he always gives in. He leaves Allison and Lydia to set it up and walks into the house, searching for Stiles, finding him in the kitchen where he’s sticking his head in the fridge.

“Hey,” Stiles says when he turns, two bottles in his hand. He twists the caps off and presses one into Derek’s hand with a grin. “Everything ready?”

“Almost.” Derek takes a swig and eyes Stiles, taking in his slowly pinking skin that will settle to a deep tan by the end of the summer, the smears of dirt up his arms where Cora tackled him into the ground for spraying her with water after she’d dried off from the sprinklers. He’s fucking gorgeous.

“Like what you see?” Stiles smirks, twisting his long fingers around the neck of the bottle, eyes sparkling as Derek moves closer to him. “Oh, look at that, you’re all blushy.” He rubs their noses together in an eskimo kiss, a sweet smile on his face. His hot, calloused hand tangles with Derek’s, tugging him outside.

*

Everyone’s on the porch, the kids sitting on the edge, feet dangling over the side, popsicles in sticky hands turning their mouths multicoloured. There’s a subtle tang in the air; sunscreen, beer and food mixing together and Derek pulls Stiles against him, his bare chest against Stiles’ back, sweaty skin slipping against each other. Ever since Stiles shot up taller than him, Derek’s loved to do this, rubbing his stubble against Stiles’ shoulder and revelling in the way Stiles digs his fingers into his forearm in protest.

The first lot of fireworks goes off, the kids cooing in awe as they watch the pink and purple sparks float into the sky. Derek takes the opportunity to lick at Stiles’ neck, saltsweatstickysweet flooding his mouth before he bites down lightly, the fireworks hiding Stiles’ moan.

“Evil,” Stiles says quietly.

Derek shrugs, mouthing at Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him even closer.

*

Later, in their heat soaked bedroom, Derek’s claws dig into the sheets as Stiles licks him open, the air heavy and static around them. Stiles stretches him out slowly, fingering him for what seems like hours until Derek is sweating, his body vibrating, broken sobs echoing in the dark. When Stiles finally pushes in, Derek cries out, only the weight of Stiles on top of him keeping him in any semblance of control. It’s a slow, punishing rhythm and Derek’s heat sapped body doesn’t have the energy to push back, doesn’t have any desire to take charge. Stiles’ hand comes around, hot sweaty skin gripping Derek’s cock, and that’s all it takes for Derek to come, his face pushed into the mattress muffling his screams. Faltering in his rhythm, Stiles’ hips stutter before he fucks into Derek desperately, pushing in one last time before he comes, Derek’s name ghosting across lips.

*

The AC whirs as they doze, naked bodies tangled up together, hands touching skin, mouths leaving marks on flesh. Whispered words float through the still air; they make plans for the rest of summer, for Thanksgiving, for Christmas.

Stiles’ face is resting against Derek’s hip, his outstretched hand rubbing circles against Derek’s leg. “The kids enjoyed today,” he says quietly.

“Sprinklers, fireworks, popsicles. What’s not to love?” Derek replies, preoccupied with touching Stiles’ moles, making patterns on Stiles’ skin with his fingers.

“I want one,” he says, kissing Derek’s hip. “Not right now, but. I want one.”

Derek stills, knowing what Stiles is asking. “I want one too,” he croaks. Because he does, he wants a kid with Stiles, wants one of their own running around in the garden with the others in summer, wants Christmas mornings making Santa shaped pancakes and stockings around the fireplace. He wants a life, love and laughter echoing in the halls every day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek, Gen.
> 
> Spoilers for season 3 so far. Inspired by [this](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/53365549714/derek-gently-lays-erica-down-on-the-couch-in-the) gif set.

Derek gently lays Erica down on the couch in the loft and wipes the blood from his face. She’s so still, so empty and he wants to shake her, wants to make her alive again. He wants to apologise.

Apologise for everything he did to her, that he never came through on any of the promises he made to her when he offered her the bite. He’d apologise for how he offered her the bite, how he manipulated her and played on his looks, played on her want.

She’d been so bright, so beautiful, and she’d trusted him to help her. Derek knows he let her down, let them all down in so many ways. He’ll have the chance to make it up to Isaac and Boyd, he hopes, but Erica… he ruined her. He did. Whatever benefits she gained from the bite, whatever confidence she had, it wasn’t worth it. Fuck, he even let her down when he promised she’d never have a seizure again.

And he thinks that’s it, thinks that’s what killed her. There are half healed wounds on her body, but no kill marks. He can smell blood on her brain, the result of multiple seizures, rattling her body and her brain until it gave up. Derek rests a hand on her forehead and closes his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do. Can’t show up with her at the hospital, can’t call her parents to tell them he got their daughter killed.

Derek would let the Sheriff lock him up, would take the brunt of all the punishment, if he didn’t have responsibilities again, if he didn’t have to track down missing pack members, if he had the time to be punished. He deserves it, he knows that, it’s his fault that she’s dead, his fault that Boyd and Cora are out there, close to feral.

Opening his eyes, he stands up. Taking the blanket from his bed, he covers Erica, brushing a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, before leaving the loft.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek & Stiles, Gen-ish.
> 
> Toyota fic. Because why not.

“What the fuck.” It’s not even a question, because Stiles is totally confused by this sight.

“Shut up,” Derek says, stalking past Stiles on his way to the grocery store.

Stiles snorts, following him, he grabs a basket and trails Derek through the store. “No, really, what were you thinking? Was it that the Camaro was a gas guzzler? Did you finally realise you’re just not that cool? Come on, what could possibly get you to buy that?” He skids to a stop when Derek turns around in the middle of the cereal aisle and glares at him. “Um.”

“Will you leave me alone if I tell you?”

“No. But you should tell me anyway.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “The cops are still suspicious of me, despite being exonerated. Any excuse they have, they’d pull me over. I can’t have that happening when there’s trouble going on.”

“Huh. That’s actually kind of sensible.” Stiles eyes the Lucky Charms before glancing at Derek. “You didn’t get rid of the Camaro, right?”

“It’s in storage.”

“Where?”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, you’re not borrowing it.”

“I didn’t ask to,” Stiles says. He runs a hand through his hair and makes a face. “I really can’t borrow it?”

“Stiles, your father is the Sheriff. You really want his deputies pulling you over in my car?”

“Good point. Hey, can I drive it in the woods?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Stiles exclaims. “No one would see us there.”

“I’m not letting you touch the Camaro.”

“Ugh, fine.” Stiles waves his basket in the air. “I’ll leave you to your groceries. Oh, don’t forget to get the snacks.”

“What?” Derek says, furrowing his brow.

“For after soccer practice,” Stiles gleefully calls out as he rounds the corner.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles, post ep 3.02, mature.

Stiles doesn’t notice the bruise until days later, until he has a spare moment to shower and take a break from the re-emerging werewolf drama. He presses a finger against it and a shiver runs through his body. There’s been bruises before, slowly purpling marks scattered across his body. Even before the werewolf crap he was a clumsy kid, walking into things, tripping over his own feet. The times he played sports didn’t help, growing into his body meant not being able to control his limbs; one memorable baseball season he managed to hit himself in the face with the end of his bat. No one could work out how he managed that.

So bruises aren’t a new thing. But this bruise. This bruise is from _Derek_ , and Stiles can’t stop poking at it. The fleshy part of his hand is always on display, he sits in class and grazes his finger across it as it changes colours.

He’s not really surprised when he starts getting hard from touching the bruise.

First it’s something he can ignore, that part of his skin is sensitive anyway, it’s not just because of the bruise. Even if it is because of the bruise, it’s not because of Derek. Except it is. Because there are other bruises on his body and none of them gets his body overheated and needy like that one does.

Stiles doesn’t usually use his left hand to jerk off. He’s had a well oiled routine for years now, and it rarely changes, but now he has the bruise. When he grips his cock with his left hand, he can feel the sharp pain-pleasure jolt going through his body as he presses the bruise against himself. It takes him almost no time at all to get off, and he drags his left hand through his come, spreading it across the bruise, decidedly not thinking of Derek as he does.

Until it happens again.

A too firm grip on his shoulder and there’s a light bruise there the next day. Stiles can see the shape of Derek’s fingers on his skin when he looks in the mirror. If he presses his hand against them and closes his eyes, he can imagine Derek behind him, can imagine Derek touching him. Doesn’t know if Derek would be rough, if he would hold back for fear of hurting Stiles, or if he’d be able to tell that Stiles likes the bruises, likes the idea of being marked.

When those heal, it happens again.

It happens again and again and again until Stiles stops believing Derek doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He stays behind at the loft one night and crawls onto Derek’s lap, holds Derek’s wrist in both hands and presses hard, avoiding Derek’s eyes . The bruise on Derek’s skin barely lasts for seconds before it heals, but the look of wonder on Derek’s face lasts for much longer. It lasts until Stiles presses his lips against Derek’s mouth and whispers “mark me”.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles-ish, Gen.
> 
> Inspired by [this picture](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/52308545642/lierdumoa-triskele-couch-local-anthropologie).

“What the hell is that and why is it in my loft?”

Derek is not in the mood for this, ever since Stiles found out about the loft, he’s been sneaking things in. A lamp, a table, _bedsheets_ , but this. This is just not okay.

“What? What’s wrong with it?” Stiles sits on the (new, unwanted) couch and leans back. “Okay, the pattern isn’t great, but look at the shape, you had to have it!”

“I notice you didn’t say you bought it.”

Stiles smirks. “Yeah, well, remember when you gave Isaac your credit card to buy groceries?”

“Stiles.” Derek holds his hand out, a small burst of amusement filling him when Stiles huffs and stands up, pulling his wallet out of his pocket.

“Here,” Stiles says, handing the credit card over. “Though I think I should get points for the shape.”

Derek frowns and walks a circle around the (ridiculous, obnoxious) couch. It’s…oh. Huh. “It’s a triskele,” he says flatly.

Stiles shrugs, leaning against one of the arms. “If you really don’t want it, I’m sure we can take it back, though we’d have to borrow Deaton’s van again and talking him into it the first time was hard enough.”

“It doesn’t look very comfortable,” Derek says, casting a critical eye over it.

“How would you know, you haven’t even sat on it?”

Stiles is staring at him, a challenge in his eyes and, as always, Derek can’t resist taking the bait. He rolls his eyes and sits on the section Stiles is leaning against. “There. Sitting on it.”

“And?”

“It’s okay,” Derek says, reluctantly. Stiles turns around and grins at him. Derek shoots a glare at him. “What? I said it was okay.”

Stiles shakes his head and walks around to one of the other seats. “Okay from you is like a rave review from anyone else,” he says as he sits down.

“Changed my mind. This is awful.” Derek tips his head back to look at Stiles. “How are you meant to have a conversation here?”

“I didn’t realise you wanted to have conversations,” Stiles says, craning his neck to meet Derek’s eyes. “Are there many people you converse with? Are you having deep and meaningful conversations with other wolves before they try and gut you?”

“Stiles?”

“Yes?”

“Take the couch back.”

Stiles sighs and gets off the couch, walking around to stand in front of Derek. “Do you really hate it?”

“I really, really do.”

“Am I banned from buying things for the loft ever again?”

Derek snorts. “Like I could stop you.”

“True.” Stiles scrunches up his face and nods. “Okay, I’ll call Isaac and tell him to get Deaton’s van. We’ll take it back.” He grins at Derek. “We’ll need your credit card to return it, though.”

Derek stands up and, was Stiles always this tall? He slips his credit card out of his wallet and hands it over. “You can get a couch. A decent couch. One that everyone will fit on.”

“Okay,” Stiles steps back, grabbing his jacket from the floor as he starts to leave. “Besides, that couch would be terrible for making out.”

Wait. What?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek & Laura, gen. Inspired by [these Hoechlin photos](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/50916058770/devildoll-oh-dear-her-first-year-of-high) because I'm a cruel person.

Her first year of high school, Laura joined the photography club, telling their parents that “there’s a filter I can use to take photos of all of us, we won’t have to worry about controlling our eyes.” She’d ruffled his hair and said “imagine all the embarrassing candids I can take of Derek,” laughing when he’d scowled at her.

Derek doesn’t remember how he got roped into it, he thinks Laura ended up pretending to cry, telling him that her project would be ruined if he didn’t help. He’d hated having his photo taken—had only just gained control over his eyes—he felt awkward in his skin, not sure what to do with his body.

He’d let Laura drag him out to the abandoned part of Beacon Hills, stood by a wall tangling his fingers together, ignoring Laura’s mutterings behind the camera until she’d called out “ready,” and he’d looked over at her. She’d sighed at the look on his face and walked over, brushing her fingers across his face saying “this is supposed to be fun, Derek.”

“I don’t feel comfortable,” he’d said, glancing off into the distance.

“You don’t have to be. You don’t have to be you when you’re in front of a camera. You can be whoever you want to be.” Laura had walked over to the plastic bag she’d brought with her and pulled out a leather jacket. She’d forced him to put it on. It was too baggy around the shoulders, his body not broad enough for it to be a comfortable fit, but he liked the smell of it, liked how it made him feel.

She made him pose for what felt like hours, until it started getting dark and she’d had several phone calls from their mom telling them to get home. Derek remembers being taken to Donnie’s Donuts afterwards, Laura’s way of saying thank you. The shop is still there. Derek hasn’t been in since he came back, terrified that images of Laura laughing in the corner booth will flood his mind if he does.

He’d tried to hand the jacket back to Laura when they’d got home, she’d shrugged and told him to keep it until he’d grown into it.

The jacket burnt up in the fire.

When they’d started running, before the insurance money came through, they’d hit up Goodwill and thrift stores to try and at least put on a show of being human. Derek had been pushed towards the jackets and coats by Laura when he’d spotted it, when he’d remembered Laura telling him that he didn’t have to be himself in front of a camera. How the jacket had let him be someone else, someone confident, someone who knew how handle himself.

Being someone else had felt like a pretty good idea at the time.

He still wears the leather jackets. They still remind him of Laura. They still help him be someone else.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles ish. Post 3.4, so spoilers.
> 
> (sorry, I am a bad person)

“What the fuck, Derek?”

Stiles barges into the loft like he belongs there, and, fuck, does Derek ever not need this right now.

“Get out.”

“Uh, no.”

“Stiles. Get. Out.”

“No. Why did you kick Isaac out? You do know he’s staying with Scott, right?” Stiles pauses in his pacing across the floor. “Are you—is this a suicide mission? Are you giving up?”

“I’m not talking about this.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not. Not to you.”

Derek sees him flinch and hates himself a little more for saying that. It’s Stiles, but Derek can’t—won’t—talk about this with him. Won’t give him a reason to get involved in this, risk getting him hurt, or worse.

“So that’s it? You kick Isaac out, you have your sister back, you’ve got Alphas on your back and you don’t need us? Don’t need anyone else?”

“That’s it.”

Stiles’ face is hard, arms folded across his chest as he stares at Derek. His heart is going a mile a minute, but there’s no reflection on the outside. Derek doesn’t know when Stiles got so good at hiding his emotions around him. He probably should’ve noticed.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you want, Stiles, it doesn’t change anything.”

“This is stupid, and you know it’s stupid.” Stiles turns around, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You know where to find me when you decide to ask for help.”

Derek watches him walk out of the loft. It’s better like this. He’ll be safe. Scott will keep him safe, keep Isaac safe. Boyd staying away keeps him safe.

Cora steps out of the shadows. “Who was that?”

“No one.”

“Didn’t sound like no one. Sounded like someone you wanted to protect.”

“And by staying away, he’ll be protected. Drop it.”

“Whatever you say, big brother.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/55143346147/cora-shut-up-what-derek-were-all-sick) TFLN graphic.
> 
> Derek/Stiles, M, future fic.

"Cora, shut up."

"What? Derek, we're all sick of you not doing anything. Right?" Cora glances at the pack.

Boyd nods from his position on the purple couch, X Box controller in hand as he stares at the television. "It's just sad, Derek."

"Yeah," Isaac says from his position on the floor, hand loosely wrapped around Scott's ankle, Allison playing with his hair.

"Uh, do I get a say in this?" Stiles asks, his cheeks pink as he stands by the wall, avoiding Derek's eyes.

"No," everyone chimes in unison. Cora's smirking at him, bumping fists with Lydia as Derek ducks his head. If Stiles looks closely, he can see the tips of Derek's ears turning pink and _oh_.

"And if I did get a say, would my enthusiastic consent make a difference?" Stiles says, licking his lips as Derek's body stills, raising his head slowly to lock eyes with Stiles.

"Guys?" Scott looks between them both. "Should we—"

"Yes." Derek says, not taking his eyes off Stiles. "Go."

Cora snorts and leaps off the couch, grabbing the keys to the car as she goes. The rest of the pack pile after her, loud, vulgar shouts about safe sex amongst the noise fading when the door closes behind them.

"So. Um—" Stiles is suddenly faced with a whole lot of Derek up against him, and, yeah, he can work with this. Derek's hands are tentatively touching his hips as if he thinks he's not allowed to do this, not allowed to have Stiles. "You gonna do something here, Derek?" Stiles smirks when Derek's eyes flash red for half a second. He goes to speak again, but before he can get out a word, Derek's mouth is on his, soft and with only a small amount of pressure. It's fucking _perfect_ and Stiles kisses back, his fingers threading through Derek's hair as he melts into him.

When they pull apart, Stiles can't help but stare at Derek's lips; red, wet and swollen. _Fuck_. He meets Derek's eyes and grins. "There's a bed in this place, right?" is all he manages to say before Derek's hands are on his ass, hiking Stiles up. Stiles wraps his legs around Derek's body, taking great pleasure in pressing light kisses across his face as they stumble towards the bedroom.

As Derek drops him on the bed and crawls on top of him, Stiles can't help but think he owes Cora so many gifts. Derek rocks back on his heels and strips his shirt off. Yeah. Stiles is going to owe her a lot of gifts.

"What are you thinking about?" Derek asks, tugging at Stiles' zipper.

"How I need to buy your sister a present."

Derek's face screws up for a moment before Stiles reaches for Derek's pants, unbuttoning them and slipping his hand inside. And, oh, the way Derek's mouth drops open is an image Stiles will _never_ get over. He grins, squeezing slightly before removing his hand.

Stiles is finding it hard to care about the way Derek's manhandling him out of his clothes because he's finally, finally, getting his hands on all that glorious, unmarked skin. When they're stripped down, Derek covers Stiles' body with his own, brushing their mouths together before kissing him deeply. He moves slowly, seemingly in complete control as Stiles squirms below him, gasping with each sensation. Derek's mouth never leaves his, not even when they're barely even kissing, just breathing against each other. It's almost too much, Derek's hard body against his, hands roaming down his sides and Stiles is pleading, whining, for Derek to move faster, for Derek to make him _come_ already. Derek smirks and kisses Stiles, nipping at his bottom lip and rolling his hips just right and Stiles is done, coming and panting against Derek's mouth. He lies there, mind totally blank with pleasure as Derek thrusts against him again and again until he comes with a strangled moan, body trembling as he collapses against Stiles.

"Yeah," Stiles says once he's regained his breath. "I really owe Cora a fruit basket or something."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another one inspired by a [TFLN graphic](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/55372128676/uh-scott-yeah-buddy-you-have-to-go) because TFLN is my weakness.
> 
> Derek/Stiles + Scott, Teen.

"Uh, Scott?"

"Yeah buddy?"

"You have to go."

"What? But we've barely even started."

Scott was right, they'd only just made it to The Incredible Hulk in their Marvel movie marathon, but—yeah, no, Scott had to leave.

"Something's come up."

"What's happened?"

"Nothing bad. Uh. It's Derek. He's, um, coming over?" Stiles winces, knowing exactly how that sounds. Which, okay, how it sounds is exactly what will be going on, but he's not _that_ keen on broadcasting his sex life. Even to his best friend. After the novelty of repaying all the times Scott had waxed lyrical about Allison's everything, and after whatever this was with Derek turned into something more than two dudes getting off together, Stiles has been kind of... private. Because while he really, really likes it when something embarrasses Derek and the tips of his ears turn pink, he doesn't actually like being the one to make it happen.

"So you're ditching me to get laid? How long did it take for us to sort out a day to hang out and do this marathon?"

Stiles hates himself a little. Scott's right. "I know. I know." He reaches for his phone. "I'll, look, I'll tell Derek no."

"Don't do that," Scott says with a grin. "Dude, I'm just teasing. You think I want to sit around with the scent of a sexually frustrated you in my nose?" He grimaces and shakes his head. "No thanks."

"Sure?" Stiles can't quite keep the hope out of his voice. "Because we were planning this, and he knows that."

"Forget it. I probably owe you a few of these."

"True."

Scott stands up and pulls Stiles into a hug, thumping him on the back before letting go. "We are going to do this marathon though. Tell Derek that next time I just won't leave."

"Done, sure, absolutely." Stiles waves a hand at Scott as he leaves, the thud down the stairs and the slam of the door echoing through the house.

"He's gone?" Derek says from the window and, holy shit.

"How many times do I have to tell you to use the door?" Stiles lets go from where he's dug his fingernails into the chair. "For my fragile heart if nothing else."

Derek stalks over and sinks to his knees in front of Stiles. "Your heart isn't fragile, Stiles."

"You don't know that. My heart could be very— _oh_." He looks down at Derek's hand resting on top of his chest and smiles softly.

"Strong," Derek says. "Like you."

Stiles plays with the ends of Derek's hair as they stay like that for a moment, wondering how Derek can always reduce him to silence with so few words. Smirking down at him, Stiles tugs lightly on Derek's hair. "I think you said something about using my dick? Any time you want to get on with that is okay with me."

"Really?" Derek slides a hand up Stiles' leg, smirking back at him.

"Yeah."

Derek stands up, leaning down to brush his lips against Stiles' mouth. "Okay then."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by [this piece of fanart](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/56104826821/torakodragon-still-a-better-love-story-than).
> 
> Derek/Stiles, sappy future fic.

Stiles giggles to himself when he burps, the beer smell floating into the foyer of the house and, oh, Derek is going to hate him in the morning. He’s pretty sure Derek is asleep, because if he wasn’t, he’d be down the stairs and laughing at Stiles’ attempts to unzip his hoodie. Which, that’s a mean thing to do because zippers are hard, okay? They’re really, really hard. Heh. Hard. Stiles pulls the hoodie off his arms and it absolutely doesn’t take him three tries to hang it on the hook.

It takes him four.

The sleeve of his hoodie brushes against the sleeve of Derek’s jacket and—he loves Derek’s jacket. It smells all earthy and warm and like _Derek_. Stiles smiles at nothing and laughs to himself, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie and holding it against the sleeve of the jacket. He twists them together, holding his giggles inside, totally not wanting to be caught by Derek doing this. When he’s done, he steps back and frowns. They’re too close together. Stiles wants his art on _display_. He concentrates very hard and manages to move his hoodie across a few hooks until the sleeves are visible. They look like they’re holding hands. Stiles is very proud of himself.

He stumbles up the stairs, stripping the rest of his clothes off as he goes; getting tangled in his pants and shoes when he makes it to the bathroom and, oops, if he pees on the floor Derek is going to be so mad. Stiles concentrates and manages to hit the bowl, punches the air in victory when he’s done. Aim like that should be celebrated. Especially when drunk.

When he makes it into the bedroom, Derek’s sprawled across the bed, one arm stuffed underneath Stiles’ pillow, the sheets slipping down his bare body and, ugh, if Stiles thought he’d be able to stay awake long enough, he’d totally be licking down that back. Instead he shuffles towards the bed, slips under the blankets, smiling to himself when Derek loops an arm around his waist and nuzzles the back of his neck.

*

Coffee. Coffeecoffeecoffee. Stiles doesn’t even want to lift his head from the pillow because, coffee. He needs coffee.

“Here.” Derek squeezes his arm and places a mug of coffee on the bedside table and, fuck, Stiles totally made the right decision when he kissed Derek three years ago. He _provides_ for Stiles.

“Mmm.” Stiles sits up and inhales the lovely, hangover curing coffee scent. “I love you,” he says into the mug.

“I’m sure the coffee returns that love,” Derek says as he climbs back on the bed. His arms are folded over his bare chest, and Stiles is totally planning on following through on his vague memory of licking his skin at some point today. Sloppy hungover sex sounds _awesome_ right now. Derek’s looking at him and, wait, Stiles knows that look. What did he do last night? Did he sing Aerosmith to Derek again? Because he’s totally not ashamed that he knows all the lyrics to Angel. He quirks an eyebrow at Derek and only gets a fond smile in return.

“Is there a reason you felt the need to tie our clothes together last night?”

Oh. Shit. He widens his eyes and takes a big gulp of his coffee.

Derek smirks. “Is this your way of saying you want to be knotted?”

And holy _shit_ he is dating a fucking demon. He coughs, spluttering coffee all over the bedspread, sucking in air as he looks at Derek and Derek—his head is thrown back, laughing, eyes closed and, fuck. Stiles really fucking loves this dude. He can’t stop staring at Derek, at the length of his neck, his chest and shoulders shaking as he laughs.

“What?” Derek says when he gets himself under control.

Stiles shakes his head, wipes his coffee soaked hands on the bedspread and leans over, pressing a soft kiss against Derek’s lips. His mouth probably tastes like ass right now—and not in the good way—but that doesn’t stop Derek from deepening the kiss, sharing their gross morning breath, tongues sliding together, and ugh, Stiles loves him. He really fucking loves everything they have together.

“So,” Derek says against his lips. “About the knotting...”

He loves Derek, but he has no qualms about pushing Derek off the bed.


	11. Just Our Hands Clasped So Tight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles, Teen.

Derek’s seen Stiles cut, blood pouring sluggishly from open wounds, with his jaw set as he stares down an alpha wolf, spiked bat clasped in his hand. Derek’s taken him to hospital more times than he likes to think about, too many times than he ever wanted to happen, and still Stiles never backs down. Still he’s always the first to volunteer for the most dangerous of plans. Still he gets annoyed whenever Derek or Scott point out the very obvious flaws in a human doing whatever it is he wants to do. Sits on the couch and sulks, his feet flung up on the coffee table as he glares at them both, refusing to admit that putting himself in mortal danger is the worst choice for the sanity of the pack.

Somehow the worst injury Stiles gets is when he’s being taught how to debone fish by his father. The knife slips when he nudges Derek with his shoulder and it cuts him deep, slices right to the bone and Stiles goes white. Derek doesn’t fare much better, his claws instantly coming out as he takes in the sight of Stiles’ blood covering the fish they were going to cook up for dinner. John takes one look at the both of them and sighs, his authoritative personality more than a match for Derek’s ingrained alpha as he bundles them both back into the vehicle and off to the hospital again.

After being stitched up, Stiles just complains that he’s hungry.

Derek buys him a burger to shut him up, kissing him on the head when the painkillers make him dopey.

There’s days when it’s not Stiles’ body that is fragile. Days when he curls up on the bed and doesn’t talk to anyone except Derek. When John takes the day off work and sits at a gravestone with a picnic and some photos. Derek curls up with Stiles and lets him talk, listens to his tales about his mom. He’s heard the story about the cape and the roof and the trampoline so many times, but each time he laughs, holds Stiles and thinks about the photo that still hangs in the hallway of the Stilinski house. A woman with familiar eyes and a grin that matches the little boy with the broken arm standing beside her, still wearing the handmade cape.

When Derek has to go off and negotiate with another pack, Stiles gets that stubborn set of his jaw, picks fights with Derek. Pushes and pokes until Derek can’t take it anymore, until he’s got Stiles up against a wall, his teeth against Stiles’ neck and Stiles’ hands grabbing at his shoulders. And it’s not nice, it’s not loving, it’s desperate and needy and _just in case_ , because Stiles will never say he worries out loud. He’ll never say he doesn’t want Derek to go in case he doesn’t come back. He’ll do this instead. He’ll beg for Derek to mark him, so that when Derek’s gone, he’ll have something tangible to press his fingers against until Derek comes home.

It’s worse when Stiles has to go back to college. He clings to Derek, makes noises about doing online courses instead and hates it when Derek tells him no. They Skype, but it’s not the same and Derek finds himself driving away from Beacon Hills most weekends. Even if they can’t have sex because Stiles’ roommate hates being sexiled, he likes being there with Stiles, his natural energy settling something in Derek. Sleeping in a too small dorm bed means Stiles usually splays out on top of him, his head nestling underneath Derek’s chin, and Derek always wakes up before Stiles. Lays there with the heavy weight of Stiles against him and tries to keep it in his mind for when he has to go back to Beacon Hills, for when he has to be alone again.

Stiles is home for winter break, dancing around the kitchen, singing along to ridiculous Christmas songs that Derek is sure he deleted from the computer. He’s wearing a Christmas sweater and mixing ingredients for cookies, filling Derek’s apartment with the scent of cinnamon and sugar. Occasionally he glances over at Derek, eyes wide when he catches Derek looking, a secret smile on his face before he gets back to his baking. When the last batch goes in the oven, Derek drops the book he’s been reading on to the coffee table and comes up behind him. Wraps his arms around Stiles and breathes him in, holding him close.

“What’ve you been thinking about?” Stiles asks.

“You,” Derek says, voice muffled by Stiles' neck. “Always you.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted [here](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/56827952762/ficlet-derek-stiles-facial-hair-issues).
> 
> Derek/Stiles, future fic, facial hair.

“What is that?”

“What?” Stiles drops his bag and turns around in a circle, trying to see what it is Derek is objecting to. He can’t find anything, and faces Derek, eyebrows raised as Derek continues to frown at him.

“Your face. It’s—”

“You like my face,” Stiles says, taking two steps forward until he’s inches from Derek’s face, noses rubbing against each other. “I know you like my face.”

Derek huffs, brings a hand up to cup Stiles’ cheek, his fingers grazing the patchy stubble on Stiles’ face. “This,” he says, rubbing his index finger against the facial fuzz. “You run out of razors?”

“Are you judging my awesome facial hair?”

“Your—what?”

“Yeah.” Stiles kisses Derek’s cheek and walks away, hitching his bag over one shoulder as he climbs the stairs, Derek on his heels. “Scott grew his out as well. We made a pact. Because, y’know, college. We’re manly men who can do these things.”

“You pinky swore, didn’t you?”

The back of Stiles’ neck flushes as he unloads his clothes from the bag. “So what if we did? Manly men don’t judge pinkie swears, Derek.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s right. They also don’t judge their boyfriends for growing facial hair when they spent a year making sure the entire student body of Beacon Hills High knew their boyfriend was off the market by the sheer amount of stubble burn said boyfriend had to put up with.”

Derek snorts, his arms curling around Stiles’ waist as Stiles throws dirty laundry in the corner. There’s the stale smell of being in his jeep for hours driving home, a combination of junk food, sweat and aching tiredness, but underneath it is the familiar scent of _Stiles_ , and Derek greedily inhales, burying his face in Stiles’ hair. He’s not sure when Stiles finishes rummaging through his bag, but when he lifts his head, Stiles is still, his hands resting on Derek’s arms.

“You done?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah.” Derek grazes his lips against Stiles’ neck before letting go, sitting on the bed and watching Stiles shrug out of his shirts.

“We’ve got dinner with my dad in an hour,” he says, adding the clothes he’s wearing to the pile. “I’m going to shower, and no, you are not joining me because we’ll be late and my _dad_ will know why.” Stiles smirks at him before stepping into the bathroom, the clunking sounds of the shower starting up echoing as Derek closes his eyes for a quick nap.

*

“Why didn’t you shave it off?” Derek hisses at him as they make their way towards the door.

“Why would I?”

“You did look in a mirror after you showered, right?”

“Yes, and I look awesome.” Stiles stops outside the door and fumbles for his key. “What is your problem with it? Seriously, Derek.”

“I. It looks like—” He’s stopped from answering when Stiles gets the door open and Scott is there. With the most ridiculous mustache on his face that Derek has ever seen and, yes, he is including the one Peter started to sport after Cora was born. Derek still doesn’t understand what that was about. Stiles gathers Scott up in a giant hug as they walk into the house, exchanging stories from college as they go.

The Sheriff is waiting in the kitchen, pizza boxes already open on the table, Melissa with him. Derek nods at them both, shaking the Sheriff’s hand, awkwardly kissing Melissa on the cheek when she gets up to greet him. Scott and Stiles tumble through the doorway, Stiles attempting to put Scott in a headlock for saying... something. Derek really doesn’t want to know.

“And here I thought our kids went to college to grow up,” Melissa says with a smirk.

“Mom, come on. We’re totally grown up. You’ve seen the mustache.”

“I’ve seen the strange animal tail masquerading as facial hair on your face if that’s what you mean.”

“Mom!”

Melissa hands Scott a slice and pats him on the shoulder. “You’re my kid, and I love you, but you look ridiculous.”

“What about me?” Stiles says, grinning at her around a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese.

“You really want me to answer that?”

“Yeah. Derek hates it.”

Derek exchanges a look with the Sheriff. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Stiles says, the beginnings of a pout on his mouth.

“I wouldn’t blame him if he did,” mutters the Sheriff as he snags a slice.

Melissa takes a sip of her drink and sighs. “Stiles, it looks like you haven’t washed your face properly.”

“What?” Stiles slumps in his chair, his foot brushing against Derek’s ankle. “I thought it looked good.”

“It doesn’t,” Derek says. Leaning forward, he rests a hand on Stiles’ thigh. “Please shave it off when we get home. It looks ridiculous and you don’t need facial hair to be—”

“A manly man?” Stiles grins.

“That.” Derek’s mouth brushes against Stiles’ ear. “Shave it off and I’ll make it worth your while.” He moves away, pointedly not looking at either the Sheriff or Melissa.

Stiles makes a thoughtful noise and chews on a bite of pizza. “Dad,” he says after swallowing. “Can I borrow your razor?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoilers for 3.9/3.10
> 
> Derek, Stiles, Scott. the scene between the episodes.
> 
> originally posted [here](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/57535749082/drabble-teen-wolf-spoilers-for-3-9-and-3-10)

“Stiles. Stiles, we have to go.” Scott’s hand is on his shoulder, but all Stiles can do is stare at the broken window, at where his dad was dragged away by the Darach, by _Ms. Blake_ , and fuck, of course his English teacher is evil. With Harris gone, the school had been lacking a malevolent spirit and, what?

“Go where?” he manages to croak out, turning towards Scott. “My Dad. She took my _Dad_ , Scott."

“I know.” Scott’s arms come around and pull him in, hand rubbing in circles against Stiles’ back and—he can’t do this. Not now. He pushes away, furiously rubbing a hand at the tears spilling from his eyes. “Stiles?” Scott says softly, like he’s scared of spooking Stiles.

“Yeah. We have to, we have to go after her.” Stiles waves a hand at the broken window, the light from outside catching something on the floor.

“We can’t.”

“What? Yes, we can.” He bends down, picking up his Dad’s crumpled badge. The edges dig into his skin as he closes his fist around it before standing up. “She has my Dad, Scott. I can’t—I won’t lose him.”

Scott’s eyes are hard as he grabs Stiles by the shoulders. “You’re not going to, but we need help. We have to go to Derek.”

“Why?”

“Because, him and Ms. Blake. She’ll go to him, which means we have to get to him first.” Scott squeezes Stiles’ shoulders before dropping his hands. “You in?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

*

Scott ends the call and glances at Stiles. “He’s at the loft.”

“I’ll drive.”

“You sure you’re up to it?” Scott says, eyeing Stiles’ shaking hands.

“I’m fine.”

“Give me the keys.”

Stiles flinches as Scott’s hand closes around his, taking the keys to the jeep, the sympathy on his face almost too much to take. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s just go.”

*

“It’s Ms. Blake,” Scott says. “She’s the Darach.”

“What?” Derek’s face is closed off, eyes narrowing. “How can you—”

“She took my Dad, Derek. She,” Stiles swallows and shakes his head. “Look, I don’t care what you think she’s like, she’s got my _Dad_ , and for all I know she’s killing him right now, so can you just listen?” His voice cracks on the last words and Derek’s face falls, nodding once before looking at Scott.

Scott shoots a concerned look at Stiles before he starts to talk. “You heard the scream, right? That was Lydia. Ms. Blake was trying to kill her. When I got to the classroom, the Sheriff was there, she’d thrown a knife at him. We fought and she—she was really strong. Sheriff Stilinski tried to shoot her, but she healed. Her face changed and she, by the time I got back to my feet she’d gone out of the window with the Sheriff.”

“She kicked a desk at the door to keep me out of the room,” Stiles says quietly. “I couldn’t—I was too late.” He sighs heavily and ignores the moisture spilling down his cheeks. “If you don’t believe us, believe this.” Digging into his pocket, he pulls out his father’s crumpled Sheriff’s badge and throws it at Derek. “Tell me how a human could do that.”

Derek holds the badge in his hand, staring down at it, his jaw twitching. He takes a breath and looks up. “I want to believe you.”

“But?”

“But I need proof.”

Scott reaches into his pocket and pulls out a jar. “If she comes here, I can give you proof.”

“Good.” Derek’s head whips around to the door. “She’s coming. Hide.” He points at the hole in the wall, eyes fixed on Stiles when he sees he isn’t moving. “What?”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, locking eyes with Derek. “For trusting us.”

Derek steps forward and touches Stiles’ shoulder before pushing the Sheriff’s badge back into his hand and turning him towards Scott. “Go. Quickly.”

Closing his hand around the badge, Stiles stands behind the wall with Scott, exchanging determined looks when they hear Ms. Blake's footsteps echoing in the loft. He's not going to let his Dad die. Not now. Not like this.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on another TFLN graphic and originally posted [here](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/57990704677/stiles-wakes-up-to-a-throbbing-in-his-knuckles).
> 
> Derek/Stiles + pack, tattoos.

Stiles wakes up to a throbbing in his knuckles, which — what? He’s pretty sure he didn’t punch anyone last night, and even if he did, that’s no reason for both his hands to be aching.

Groaning, he rolls over onto his stomach, body butting against someone else’s. He cracks an eye open and takes a look. Erica, Boyd and Cora are curled up together in a corner, limbs strewn every which way. Isaac’s head is in Allison’s lap, and her legs are tangled around Scott’s stomach. If Scott’s there, then who the hell did Stiles bump into? He twists around and — oh, Derek. Of course.

His knuckles are still throbbing and he lifts his hands up to take a look.

Holy shit.

There’s no mistaking what has happened to his knuckles. Not at all.

Who the fuck let him get tattooed?

"Stiles," Derek mutters sleepily, his hand clumsily hitting Stiles’ chest. "Your heart is racing."

"Yeah, well, apparently someone let me get tattooed last night and I am freaking the fuck out."

"Whazzat?" Derek shoots up, his head sitting the low hanging lamp and he glares at Stiles. "What are you talking about?"

"Look," Stiles says, shoving his hands in Derek’s face. "Look what that says."

"Wolf Pack," Derek reads obediently. "Wolf — what? When did this happen?"

"How am I meant to know?! When I left the room, I didn’t have tattoos. I wake up today, I have tattoos. Weren’t you all meant to look after the helpless drunk human?"

"Stiles, come on." Derek holds Stiles’ hands gently. "Calm down."

"Calm — calm down? Are you the one with ink permanently embedded in your knuckles?”

Boyd makes a snorting noise and lifts his head. “Why is Stiles freaking out?”

"Because he has tattoos on his knuckles." Derek’s stroking a finger along them and, oh, that feels good. "You know anything about it?"

"Nope. Ask Allison and Isaac, I left them with him."

Derek throws a shirt at Isaac’s head and, if it weren’t for the fact that he has tattoos on his hands, Stiles would find the subsequent flailing thoroughly entertaining. “What? What’s — Derek?”

"Why has Stiles got tattoos?"

"Um." Isaac ducks his head in an attempt to hide a smile, but it’s not successful and Stiles is pissed at everyone now.

"Dude. It’s not fucking funny. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a job with tattooed knuckles? My dad is going to fucking disown me.” Derek’s got one hand wrapped around Stiles’ wrist, leeching the dull ache from his knuckles. “It’s not — why did you let me do this? And what tattooist even tattoos someone as drunk as I was? Fuck, I’m going to get hepatitis, aren’t I?”

"You’re not going to get hepatitis," Isaac says. "It was a decent place and we may have, uh, intimidated the tattooist?" He shrinks underneath Derek’s glare. "Just a bit. And we didn’t hurt him."

Derek sighs and rubs his free hand against his face. “I knew I should’ve come with you.”

"What? We didn’t do anything.”

"You scared a tattooist into tattooing Stiles when he was drunk. What part of that comes under you ‘not doing anything’?” Derek switches his hand over, grasping Stiles’ other wrist. Glaring at Isaac, he shakes his head. “All of you,” he says loudly. “Wake up. NOW.”

The room is a flurry of limbs and exclamations and Stiles shifts closer to Derek, breathing out slowly when Derek wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Shut up,” Derek says over the din. “Now. Who wants to tell me why you thought it was okay to let Stiles get a tattoo?”

"Uh," Scott shrugs a little. "It wasn’t that we thought it was okay exactly."

"Scott, dude, really?" Stiles stares at him, a little betrayed.

"You were really insistent! You threatened to put curlers in my fur and take photos if we didn’t take you to a tattoo parlour."

Allison smothers a laugh and shakes her head. “Sorry, sorry, I know it’s not funny.” She reaches out a hand and rests it on Stiles’ leg. “What can we do?”

"Nothing."

Everyone sits around in awkward silence until Cora pipes up. “Um, guys? Where’s Lydia?”

*

Lydia comes waltzing in two hours later. No one has left the room, and Derek keeps growling at anyone who comes near Stiles, which, in his tattooed state, Stiles is finding highly amusing.

"What’s going on?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at Stiles and Derek curled up in the corner.

"These morons decided to listen to me when I was drunk and wanted a tattoo."

"So….?"

"So they’re on my knuckles!"

"Oh." Lydia shrugs. "I can get rid of that if you want?"

Everyone turns to look at her. “What?” Scott says. “You can. What?”

"It’s a thing, changing molecules and a bit of magic." Lydia rolls her eyes. "Do you want me to explain it, or want me to do it?"

Stiles exchanges a look with Derek. “What do you think?”

"At worst all she can do is make it say something else," Derek says.

"Okay. Okay, yeah."

Lydia walks over and sits in front of Stiles. “Everyone be quiet. Stiles, give me your hands.” She holds her hands out and nods when Stiles slips his hands in hers. “Close your eyes.”

Feeling ridiculously self concious, Stiles obeys, leaning into Derek’s touch at the base of his spine.

"This shouldn’t hurt," Lydia says.

"Shouldn’t?"

"I haven’t tried it on anyone but Deaton."

"Great."

There’s a buzz of energy in the air and Stiles’ head fills with a daze. It’s warm and comforting and, huh. Colourful. Lydia’s hands are warm on his and his knuckles are vibrating underneath her ministrations. She touches each knuckle individually, a cool breeze following whenever she moves onto the next one. “Okay,” she says. “Open your eyes.”

Stiles looks down at his hands and, holy shit, they’re gone. Totally gone. He tackles Lydia to the floor in a hug, laughing loudly with a grin on his face. “You’re a goddess, Lyds.”

"Tell me something I don’t know, Stiles," she says fondly. "Now get off me, you stink."

He climbs off her and moves back to Derek, curls against him. “I feel like I need to sleep again.”

"We can do that," Derek says, his hand squeezing Stiles’ shoulder. "Just one thing?"

"Hmm," Stiles says sleepily.

"Why did you want ‘wolf pack’ on your knuckles?"

Oh crap.


	15. The Things You Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted [here](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/58300761896/fic-the-things-you-do-derek-stiles-explicit).
> 
> Derek/Stiles, Explicit, PWP.

Derek clamps his hand around Stiles’ forearm and Stiles instantly stills, his eyes wide as he looks up at Derek. His mouth drops open, pink tongue darting out to wet his lower lip and Derek grins ferally, fingers flexing around Stiles’ arm. If he wanted to he could break it, hurt Stiles, make him cry out in pain. He won’t, he doesn’t want to be the reason behind any of Stiles’ pain, but he could. Stiles _trusts_ him, and each day Derek has that trust he has to adjust his worldview. Has to realise again that there’s someone there for him to lean on. It’s almost too much sometimes, when they’re tangled together like this, heated skin against heated skin—it’s all Derek can do to keep breathing.

“You going to do something other than hold me here?” Stiles grins at him.

“Yeah,” Derek says, licking around Stiles’ nipple, biting down just to feel Stiles squirm underneath him.

“That’s—that’s good,” Stiles gasps, his free hand gripping the sheets, head thrown back.

Derek slides up Stiles’ body, blunt teeth worrying against Stiles’ collarbone, blood rushing to the surface underneath his mouth. Sweat pools in the hollow of Stiles’ neck and Derek licks it up, the pure taste of _Stiles_ exploding on his tongue. His grip on Stiles’ arm tightens involuntarily and he flinches when Stiles lets out a whine. Quickly letting go, he kisses Stiles’ jaw. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“I’m not hurt,” Stiles says, his hands rubbing against Derek’s skin. “You won’t hurt me.”

“I could.”

“But you _won’t_.”

Stiles makes it sound so easy, and he knows the strength Derek has; he’s seen the way Derek can hurt and break and kill people, and he _still_ trusts Derek in these most intimate moments. Touching Derek’s face to get him to look up, Stiles smiles at him, tilts his hips a little until Derek understands what he wants. “Sure?” he asks as he climbs off Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, sitting up to kiss him, deep and filthy before he rolls over, resting his face on his folded arms. He kneels, legs parted and Derek takes a deep breath at the sight.

Derek swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and reaches under the pillow for the lube. Staring at the tube in his hand, he bites his lip and puts it down, smoothing his hands along Stiles’ back. “Can I?”

“Can you what, Derek? Use your words.”

Biting down on the pale flesh of Stiles’ ass before running his tongue over the teeth marks, Derek grins against the skin. “You know what.”

“Fuck—yeah, okay, I know,” Stiles says into the sheets. “I want you to say it.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, fingertips lightly tapping against Stiles’ hip. “Can I rim you?”

“Duh,” Stiles says, and Derek knows he’s hiding a smirk. He kneels down, grips Stiles’ hips and rubs his beard against Stiles’ ass. “Oh you fucker,” Stiles yelps. “I didn’t sign up for beard burn on my _ass_ , fuzzface.”

“You like it,” Derek smirks, kissing the already pinking skin. Moving his hands, he holds Stiles open, tongue flicking over his hole.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Stiles whines, and that’s Derek’s green light. He licks at Stiles’ hole, over and over again until Stiles is writhing beneath him. Slowly dragging his tongue against Stiles’ opening, his fingers dig into Stiles’ ass and he knows they’re sure to leave bruises. Likes that they’ll leave bruises, that Stiles will bear his marks. Stiles’ scent fills his nose as he uses his tongue to open Stiles up. He pulls back a little and spits, thumb spreading it around before he sticks his face back against Stiles’ ass. Derek loves this, loves the way Stiles moves underneath him, how Stiles shoves back against his face when he works his tongue inside him.

Stiles’ breath is harsh, his hands twisting the sheets underneath them, his face turned to the side, cheek pressing against the mattress. His heart is racing, and Derek can smell the pre-come leaking from Stiles’ cock; it spurs him on, tongue working it’s way inside Stiles again and again. He presses a thumb against Stiles’ hole, watching as it slips inside.

“Derek, come on.”

“Not yet,” Derek says, running a hand along Stiles’ back, fingers brushing against the moles spread across Stiles’ flushed skin. “I want you begging.” He grins when Stiles groans and ducks his head back down, licking around his thumb before removing it, holding Stiles open and pushing his tongue back inside. Stiles’ thighs tremble as Derek’s tongue teases him and Derek can’t hold back the smirk that spreads across his face. He laughs a little and places open mouthed kisses against Stiles’ hole.

“Asshole.”

“Yep.” Derek grazes the tip of his index finger against Stiles’ rim. “This okay?”

“I trust you,” Stiles says.

Derek slowly pushes the tip of his finger inside Stiles, eyes fixed on the way Stiles’ body takes it in. He’ll never get over this, the way Stiles’ body just _opens_ for him, no matter what. It’s intoxicating and addictive and he wants it all the time. Stiles is still a little loose from the night before and it doesn’t take much for Derek to slide his finger in, kissing Stiles’ asscheek.

“Fuck me,” Stiles breathes out. “Just—c’mon, Derek.” He wiggles his ass, shoving it back impatiently.

“I told you, I want you begging.” Derek pulls his finger out and grabs the lube. “I want you stretched, loose and sloppy.”

“I never should’ve nagged you to use your words.”

Derek smirks as he spreads lube on his fingers, pushing two inside Stiles, his cock twitching at the noises that slip out of Stiles’ mouth. He fingerfucks Stiles slowly, holding him in place with one hand when Stiles tries to push back, laughing when Stiles whines. “Hold. Still.”

“I fucking hate you.”

Leaning over him, Derek licks at the sweat on Stiles’ back and bites down on his shoulder blade. “Lie,” he whispers before settling back on his knees. Looking at Stiles all spread out in front of him, Derek can’t resist licking up his right thigh, worrying his teeth against the mole near the crease of Stiles’ ass. “More?” he asks, curving his fingers inside Stiles.

“Stop asking and get to doing.”

Derek doesn’t need telling twice; he removes his fingers, distracted by the way Stiles’ pink, wet hole clenches at nothing. “Fuck,” he breathes out as he scrambles for the lube, eyes watching Stiles’ ass.

He starts by pushing three in, groaning at the feel of Stiles around him, the sight of lube running down Stiles’ thighs. Derek’s hand is still clamped around Stiles’ hip, sweat between their skin making his grip slide slightly. “Can you—four?”

“Yeah. Do it.”

Stiles’ upper body is splayed against the bed, his hips and ass up in the air and Derek’s painfully aware of his hard, heavy cock and just how much he wants to be inside Stiles. He puts the thought out of his mind and licks his lips before ducking down, easing all four fingers into Stiles’ hole.

“Fu—uck,” Stiles groans.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s—it’s a lot.”

“Good?”

“Fuck yes.”

Derek kisses Stiles’ tailbone and slowly works his fingers in and out of Stiles, thumb resting against Stiles’ rim as he idly wonders if he could stretch Stiles enough to fist him. It’s a heady thought, he knows how big his hand is, and the idea of Stiles taking all of it makes whatever remaining blood he has in his brain go straight to his cock. “Think you’re ready?” he asks, teasing his thumb at the edge of Stiles’ used hole.

“I think you’re a tease,” Stiles says, voice muffled by his arm. “Fucking fuck me already.”

Stiles lets out a loud groan when Derek takes his fingers out. Lube trickles down Stiles’ thighs and Derek runs his hands up them, making a mess of Stiles’ body. Slicking up his cock, he kneels, nudging Stiles’ legs further apart as he moves closer. Lining himself up against Stiles’ hole, he pushes in, breathing heavily as he curls over Stiles, their sweaty bodies sliding against each other. When he bottoms out, Derek bites at the back of Stiles’ neck, tugging at Stiles’ arms until they’re stretched out in front of them; he runs his hands down them, tangling their fingers together and squeezing.

Slowly rocking his hips, Derek savours the drag of his cock inside Stiles and wishes he could get closer; that he could climb inside Stiles, curl up against his heart and stay there. There’s a low rumble in his chest as he moves his hips faster, Stiles’ body sliding up the bed with each thrust. Derek’s so fucking close that he almost can’t handle it; he fucks Stiles fiercely, hips slamming against Stiles’ ass, the sounds spilling from Stiles’ mouth filling the room. He lets go of Stiles’ hands and presses his palms against Stiles’ shoulders as he pushes him down into the mattress.

Derek fucks him hard, the noises Stiles makes going straight to his cock, and his hips stutter when Stiles chokes out his name. It’s a broken sob and that’s all it takes, Derek’s cock pulsing inside Stiles as he comes.

He’s still buried inside Stiles when he collapses on top of him, mouthing at Stiles’ neck. Biting down, he grins when Stiles attempts to shift his hips, trying to rub against the bed. “I swear, Derek, if you don’t get me off after all that I will put wolfsbane in your coffee.”

“No you won’t.” Derek pulls out of Stiles and sits up, tugging at his hip to turn him around. When Stiles rolls on his back, Derek smirks at the sight of him; his cock is flushed, leaking pre come against his sweaty skin and he’s fucking gorgeous. Stiles flexes his hand and goes to grab his cock, yelping when Derek smacks it away. “Mine,” Derek says, leaning over Stiles, nipping at his bottom lip until Stiles nods.

“Then do something with it,” Stiles says with a grin.

Derek reaches down, wraps a hand around Stiles’ cock and works him the way he knows Stiles loves. Stiles’ hips are bucking underneath them, his neck thrown back and Derek drags his tongue along the tendons, blunt teeth digging in whenever Stiles whines. It doesn’t take long until Stiles is jerking underneath him, bitten out moans letting Derek know he’s close; Derek bites down against Stiles’ shoulder, smirking against the skin when Stiles comes.

He slides off Stiles a little, flinging one leg over Stiles’ hips, his hand smearing the come across Stiles’ chest. “Stop that,” Stiles mutters.

“Don’t want to.” Derek pulls at him, rolling them over on the bed until Stiles is on top of him. He moves a hand between Stiles’ legs, fingers teasing at his hole.

“What’re you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t feel like— _oh_.” Stiles quiets when Derek pushes two fingers inside him knuckle deep, keeping him sloppy and open. He doesn’t do this often, but Stiles always indulges him when he does. Derek loves that Stiles lets him do this, lets him hold him close when they’re still a mess of sweat, come and lube. “Yeah, okay,” Stiles says, nuzzling against Derek’s neck. “Wake me up when you want to shower.”

Derek kisses the top of Stiles’ head and listens to his breathing even out until he falls asleep, his mouth open, breath hitting Derek’s skin, sending a shiver down his spine. “I love you,” he says quietly, smiling when Stiles sighs in his sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted [here](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/58343429963/what-are-you-doing-stiles-bites-his-lip-his), and inspired by that photo.
> 
> Derek/Stiles, Gen.

"What are you doing?"

Stiles bites his lip, his thighs either side of Derek’s chest. “Can I —” His hand floats above Derek’s face in question, waiting for Derek to nod, to give permission. When he gets it, Stiles delicately runs his fingers across Derek’s face. Traces the ridges of his eyebrows, the slope of his nose; the bristles of Derek’s facial hair tickle the pads of his fingertips and he smiles at the sensation.

"You’re so strange," Derek says, fondly.

"Uh huh." Stiles presses his thumbs against the subtle downturn of Derek’s mouth. He grazes one thumb across the plump softness of Derek’s bottom lip, tugging it down slightly and smiling at the sight of Derek’s teeth.

Tearing himself away from Derek’s mouth, he taps his fingertips against the bones surrounding Derek’s eyes, sighing when Derek’s eyes flutter shut, eyelashes casting shadows on his skin. He traces the edges of Derek’s beard, dipping his fingers into the hollow of Derek’s cheekbones before running them up to the crinkles in the corners of Derek’s eyes.

Smoothing his thumbs across Derek’s eyebrows, Stiles laughs when Derek rolls his eyes up, trying to follow the movement of Stiles’ fingers. He outlines the shape of Derek’s face, along his hairline, down his jaw, underneath his chin.

When he’s done exploring, Stiles leans down and presses his lips against Derek’s forehead, kissing his way down his face, placing a light kiss on the tip of Derek’s nose with a smile.

"I like your face," he says, lips brushing against Derek’s mouth. "It’s a good face."


	17. Spa Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles, Mature. originally posted [here](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/58842513947/new-fic-derek-stiles-spa-day-mature).

“Come with me,” Stiles whines, waving the colourful pieces of paper in Derek’s face.

“Why would I want to come with you to a day spa, Stiles? Why are you even _asking_ me?”

“Because it’s free?” Stiles shrugs, leaning against the wall of Derek’s new apartment. “Look, okay, I won this in the police fundraising auction thing and no one I know will come with me. Scott doesn’t want to do it, his mom said she didn’t have time, Isaac laughed at me, Danny said he’d go if it wasn’t with _me_ , my dad said his deputies would mock him for days, Lydia said she doesn’t let just anyone touch her skin and Allison, uh, Allison was sharpening knives.”

“So I’m your last resort?”

“Kind of? Plus, I mean, you could do with a massage. And ever since you got back from your wolfy self discovery trip you’ve been looking a bit...”

“What?”

“Feral?” Stiles raises his hands. “In a way that totally works for you, but if you want to reintegrate into society, you might want to—”

“Stop talking.”

Stiles huffs, his shoulders slumping. “Is that a no? Come on, dude, no one else will do this with me.”

“They’re all a lot smarter than I am.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Will it shut you up?”

“No. But you should do it anyway.”

Derek laughs, and Stiles is still not used to that; the smile that brightens Derek’s whole face. It’s been happening more often since Derek came back to Beacon Hills, but Stiles is caught off guard each time it happens. He’s so enraptured by it, he almost misses what Derek says.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Really? Are you sure? Wait, don’t answer that.”

“You’re going now,” Derek says, gripping Stiles by the arm and walking him to the door.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll text you the date,” is all Stiles manages to get out before Derek closes the door.

*

“What is this?”

“It’s a robe, Derek. You put them on.”

Derek’s rubbing the fabric between his index finger and his thumb, nose wrinkling in a way that is totally not adorable. “It smells wrong.”

“Okay?” Stiles tugs his Converse off. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Do I have to put it on?”

“I know it’s not black like your soul, but yeah. From what Lydia tells me, it’s part of the whole spa experience.”

“I think I could live without this part.”

“Stop whining and take your clothes off. I mean.” Stiles strips his t shirt off, hoping his chest isn’t flushing red. “Put the robe on, put the booties on and hurry _up_. We’ll be late for the mud bath.”

If Stiles takes great pleasure in the way Derek’s eyebrows raise at those words, he’s not telling anyone.

*

“That’s mud.”

“Yep,” Stiles says with a wide grin, tugging at the knot in the belt of his robe. “What did you think I meant by mud bath?”

The therapist watches their exchange with a poorly hidden smile. “I’ll let you both disrobe in private. If you want to use the disposable underwear, it’s on the shelf over there,” she says, stepping out of the room.

“Do you want to—” the words dry up in Stiles’ mouth when he sees Derek take his robe off, revealing smooth skin. A lot of skin. Only skin. Derek bypasses the disposable underwear and stands by one of the tubs, bending over to dip a finger in the mud and— _holy christ_ Stiles was not prepared for this. He looks up to the ceiling and takes his own robe off, debating in his head whether to go for the underwear or not before deciding against it. If Derek can go nude, then he can go nude.

When he’s fully immersed in the mud, he looks over at Derek; his head is tipped back, and he’s staring at the ceiling, his face totally blank. Stiles shifts a little, the mud making itself known in interesting places and he clears his throat. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, turning his head to meet Stiles’ eyes. “It’s interesting.”

“Better than any of the other times we’ve been covered in mud, right?”

“Well, there’s no blood. That’s a plus.”

And there’s Derek’s smile again. Stiles barely has time to process it before the therapist comes back into the room, he has a horrible feeling that he’s staring at Derek with his mouth open and he quickly averts his eyes.

“How are you both doing? I’m Susie. Are you ready for me to do your faces?”

“Um, yeah,” Stiles says. “Sure.”

He leans back like Derek and closes his eyes. If he concentrates, he can hear Derek’s breathing, and it’s steady, comforting. “Okay,” Susie says. “I’m just going to smooth this on, and then I’ll do your partner—” Wait, what? “—and you’ll have some time to relax before you rinse off in the shower.”

There’s some clinking and then Susie runs a brush down Stiles’ nose, across his cheeks, the wet heavy feel of the clay on his skin making him sink further into the mud. When she’s done, Stiles cracks an eye open to watch Derek go through the same thing. His face is as relaxed as Stiles has ever seen, his brow unfurrowed, his lips slightly parted.

“You’re both done,” Susie says. “I’ll leave you here, and when your time is up I’ll knock on the door and you can go through the door on the right to the shower, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks Susie.”

There’s silence in the room after Susie closes the door and it takes Stiles all of a minute to break it.

“My face is itchy,” he says.

“That’s the clay drying,” Derek mumbles. “Try not to think about it.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Stiles.”

“Sorry.” Stiles swoops his fingers through the mud, the gloopy sensation making him grin, the drying clay on his face cracking. “You never said.”

“Never said what?”

“If you’re happy you came back.”

Derek sighs, and Stiles turns his head to look at him, noticing the way his lips slip into a slight pout. “I’m not unhappy I came back. It’s complicated.”

“Because of Peter?”

“Yeah. He—it wasn’t easy.”

“I don’t think helping to kill your relative is meant to be easy,” Stiles murmurs.

“What he did. He deserved it.”

“He did.”

“I am happy to be back, Stiles.” Derek cranes his neck and meets Stiles’ eyes. “I am.”

“Good,” Stiles says, looking away. “I’m glad you’re back.”

A small noise slips from Derek’s mouth and Stiles very determinedly does not look at him.

They don’t talk again until Susie knocks on the door. Stiles watches Derek climb out of the mud tub easily, his body moving fluidly and he curses how Derek still looks so attractive covered in mud. He grips the side of his tub and attempts to pull himself up. It doesn’t work and he sighs. “A little help?”

Derek looks over at him, and shakes his head, the grin on his face making the dry clay crumble. He reaches a hand down and grips Stiles’ forearm, pulling him up, holding him steady as he climbs out.

“Showers?” he says, trying not to notice how Derek hasn’t let go of his arm yet.

*

Calling them ‘showers’ was kind of misleading, Stiles thinks as he steps into the room. It’s really one big shower; a tiled room with a wooden bench against one wall, with their robes hung up on hooks away from the showerheads. Derek switches the water on and steps under one of the sprays, his face tipped back as he wipes the clay off his face. The water runs over Derek’s body and Stiles unashamedly watches as Derek’s hands rub against the stubborn mud on his arms.

“Are you going to get clean?” Derek asks, his back to Stiles.

“Yeah, totally,” Stiles replies, stepping under one of the free sprays. Closing his eyes, he cleans his hands before he rubs the clay from his face. Grabbing one of the spa shower gels, he squeezes some out and gets as much of the mud off as he can, bending over and scrubbing his legs. There’s a clatter from behind him and he jumps, straightening up and looking over his shoulder. “Derek?”

“The gel slipped,” Derek says, and Stiles is sure he’s not imagining the slight flush on Derek’s cheeks.

“Could you—I can’t clean my back.”

“Oh. Yeah. Turn around,” Derek says, his voice slightly hoarse.

Stiles obeys, turning his face into the stream of water, letting it run down the front of his body. He’s not prepared for the feel of Derek’s hands on his shoulders, Derek’s fingers massaging his muscles as he scrubs the mud off him. The gel runs down his skin and he shivers when Derek’s hand grazes against his ass, gathering up the gel and rubbing it through the mud. Stiles is well aware that Derek is taking longer than needed and he can’t stop the slight groan that slips out of his mouth when Derek lightly trails his fingers down his spine.

“Can you do mine?” Derek asks.

“Yeah.”

When Stiles turns around, Derek’s already got his back to him, and he lets himself admire the swell of Derek’s ass, the indentations on the side of his thighs, the dimples at the base of his spine. He swallows and squirts some gel into the palm of his hands before he starts to touch Derek. Running his hands along Derek’s back, he watches the gel and water cut through the mud, revealing acres of Derek’s skin. Stiles delicately traces the curving lines of Derek’s tattoo before he steps back.

As soon as he takes his hands off Derek’s skin, Derek turns around and, yeah, Stiles looks. He can’t help it, he needs to know if all this has done the same to Derek that it has to him.

And it has. That much is blindingly obvious.

Derek’s touching him, his hand around Stiles’ bicep, pulling him forwards until they’re both under the stream of water. He’s so close, Stiles can see the way his eyelashes are clumped together, the droplets caught in his eyebrows. Stiles blinks once and then Derek’s lips are on his and _fuck_ , that’s exactly what he never knew he wanted. He curls his arms around Derek’s neck and hangs on, their mouths opening, the kiss deepening.

The water’s running down on them and Stiles steps closer, gasping against Derek’s mouth when he feels their cocks brush together. Derek bites down on Stiles’ bottom lip and reaches down, placing his hands against Stiles’ ass and holding him even closer.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathes out, water spilling into his mouth, down his chin. He rocks against Derek, unable to hold back a grin when Derek responds in kind. “Do you think we’re the first ones to do this in here?”

Derek smiles, his stubble scraping against Stiles’ skin. “I doubt it.”

Stiles lets Derek control this, giving over to him entirely because he _can_. Derek’s biting his neck as he grinds against Stiles, his blunt teeth worrying the skin before he licks over it. There’s nothing Derek’s doing that isn’t making Stiles hot, and it’s fucking insane how even the slightest touch from Derek is making his skin tingle.

The steam from the shower and Derek’s deep kisses are taking Stiles’ breath away in the most literal sense and he’s gasping, rocking his hips forward. There’s a familiar coiling in his groin and before he can say anything, he’s coming, blunt nails digging into Derek’s skin. Stiles slumps against Derek, lets him turn them around, pressing Stiles against the tiles as he ruts against him, cock sliding against Stiles’ stomach. He’s mouthing against Stiles’ jaw, his hands running through Stiles’ wet hair, and then he’s groaning against Stiles’ mouth, hips jerking as he comes.

They barely have time to get their breath back before there’s a knock at the door.

“Excuse me, sirs? It’s Susie, are you ready to carry on?”

Stiles rests his forehead against Derek’s shoulder, unable to stop laughing.

“Yeah,” Derek calls out, his fingers tracing small patterns against Stiles’ back. “We’ll be done in a moment.”

They can hear Susie’s footsteps echoing as she walks away and Stiles lifts his head, wrapping his arms around Derek. “Liking your spa day so far?”

“It’s had it’s plus points,” Derek smirks.

“Ready for your pedicure?”

Derek leans back and raises his eyebrows at Stiles. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll give you a blow job.”

*

Derek gets the pedicure.

And the blow job.

*

Three days later, they’re at Derek’s apartment, curled up on the couch and lazily making out when the pack barges through the door. Derek drops his head against Stiles’ chest and groans. “Why did I give them keys?”

Carding a hand through Derek’s hair, Stiles laughs. “Because you love them. And they’ve brought food.” He shoves at Derek’s shoulders. “Get off, I’m hungry.”

They rearrange themselves until there’s room on the couch for Scott, who sits down next to them, wrinkling his nose as he passes over boxes of pizza. Derek curls an arm over Stiles’ shoulders and grabs a slice, his feet resting on the coffee table.

“Uh, Derek?” Scott asks.

“Yeah?”

“Why are your toenails purple?”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles, Mature. Fingers. Originally posted [here](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/59550576099/fingers-fingers-fingers-because-reasons).

It's not that Stiles is obsessed with Derek's fingers, but -- okay, he kind of has a thing for them. Even before they got together, Stiles would get distracted by them; Derek would just wave his hands around like he didn't understand Stiles was fascinated by them.

They're different to his own, slightly thicker than his, but graceful with it. His nails aren't bitten to the quick like Stiles' are, they're neat, trimmed and Stiles is still suspicious that Derek and Lydia share a nail salon. It would explain a lot.

He's sat there with Derek, tracing the hair on Derek's knuckles, goofily kissing each one until Derek's face flushes and he tries to wrestle his hand away.

Stiles likes it when Derek runs the pads of his fingers along his skin. His skin should be calloused, rough and should graze Stiles' flesh, but the werewolf healing has made sure that doesn't happen.

He likes it when Derek uses his fingers to open him up, gently probing, teasing Stiles until he's begging for more. When Derek pushes his fingers in and goes knuckles deep inside Stiles, it's pure bliss. Stiles pushes back against them, his ass wriggling until Derek gives him more, until he's being thoroughly fingerfucked and loving every second.

Derek points to things on maps and plans and Stiles misses half of what is being discussed because he can't stop thinking about the amount of times he's sucked Derek's fingers into his mouth. How he's been able to reduce Derek to a whimpering mess by doing that.

But his favourite thing about Derek's fingers is the way Derek will touch Stiles' face with them. The way he'll stroke Stiles' jaw when they kiss, how he holds Stiles like he's something breakable, something precious.

It's not that Stiles is obsessed with Derek's fingers. Not really. He's simply obsessed with _Derek_.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted [here](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/60692692312/totally-not-what-i-am-meant-to-be-writing).
> 
> Derek/Stiles, Mature.

The first time Stiles touched his neck, Derek shoved him off and had him on his back against the hard floor before either of them realised what had happened. He let go quickly, shaking his head as he crawled off Stiles, whispering apologies as Stiles coughed, attempting to get his breath back.

Derek trusts Stiles, he does. His _human_ side does. The wolf is less easy to placate. The wolf has seen betrayal from each person Derek has let close; has closed himself off and refused to trust again. Derek fights with him each time Stiles gets close, tries to get the wolf to understand that it's _Stiles_ , that if there's one person they can trust, it's him.

They don't talk about it, but Derek catches Stiles sometimes, sees the way his hand reaches out to touch when they're kissing. Sees how Stiles aches to places his lips against Derek's neck the way Derek does to him. It breaks a part of Derek to know that he can't give that to Stiles. Not yet.

*

Derek's on the preserve floor, bloody and beaten, slowly healing with dirt sticking into his wounds and Stiles — Stiles is right there, sheltering him from the sharp, spiked barbs the warlock is throwing at them. Scott is to their right, Allison to their left, and Lydia's with Deaton, quietly chanting and clutching a dagger with runes carved in the hilt. He can feel Stiles' fingers against his skin, soothing lines of heat as Stiles checks him over, muttering to himself as he goes.

Sinking back against the thick roots of a tree, Derek looks up at Stiles -- flushed skin, bitten bottom lip, eyes wide with worry. "I'm okay," Derek says. "Healing."

"I know, I know. I — let me do this."

It's ridiculous that Stiles is doing this, that he's turned his back on the warlock to check on Derek's healing wounds. Stiles' blind faith in the pack to protect him drives the wolf inside Derek to madness. He claws and says it's not right, that even if they're pack, they can't be trusted that much.

There's an eerie, abrupt quiet and then the warlock's head explodes. Stiles dives forward, shoving his face into Derek's neck and it all happens so quickly that neither Derek, nor Stiles, realise what he's done. There's no reaction from Derek's wolf, and when Stiles lifts his head, he stares at Derek, mouth parted as his brow furrows.

"Can I —?" he timidly reaches his fingers out, stopping inches from Derek's neck.

"Yeah," Derek says. "Yeah." He grabs Stiles' fingers and drags them towards his neck, swallowing hard at the initial touch. Stiles' eyes widen as he brushes his fingers lightly against Derek's throat, dipping into the hollow at the base before stroking up the sides. There's an urge to close his eyes at the sensation, but he can't take his eyes off Stiles, at the wonder in his face.

Stiles ducks his head, sucks in a breath before gently pressing his lips against Derek's neck, laughing wetly when Derek doesn't push him away. Ignoring the blood not yet dry on his skin, Derek wraps his arms around Stiles and pulls him flush onto his lap, stretching his legs out and cradling him as Stiles continues nuzzling at Derek's neck.

*

Now that he's allowed to touch, Stiles hardly ever stops. They'll be having lunch and Stiles will lean over, tip Derek's chin up and kiss his neck. When they're watching a movie, Stiles will climb onto Derek's lap and push his face against Derek's neck, inhaling Derek's scent and sighing happily.

But it's when they're in bed, and Stiles is lying on top of Derek, that he indulges himself the most. Derek stares up at him, tipping his head back when Stiles lowers his head to press their lips together. Long fingers trace against Derek's neck, Stiles' thumb a light pressure against his windpipe — enough that Derek knows it's there. The wolf curls up underneath Stiles' attention, happy to show it's throat to Stiles.

When Stiles settles down, resting his head against Derek's chest, his fingers are still against Derek's throat.

"This okay?" Stiles mumbles, kissing Derek's skin, moving his fingers slightly.

"Yeah," Derek breathes out. "It's good."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles, G, originally posted [here](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/61712064293/theres-few-things-stiles-likes-more-than). (nsfw photo)

There’s few things Stiles likes more than stumbling downstairs and seeing Derek, naked, in the kitchen. It’s the werewolf thing, Derek runs hot, and not just in the obvious ways Stiles likes to tease him about. When it’s winter, Stiles can’t make it out of bed without a blanket wrapped around his shoulders wearing flannel pj pants and one of Derek’s henleys. Derek, though — Derek likes walking around naked, likes to take advantage of the fact that they finally have their own home, their own space, where they can do what they like.

During the week Stiles sometimes wakes up to an empty bed. Derek’s side is warm when he reaches over, but Stiles can hear him in the kitchen, can smell breakfast cooking. Sometimes Stiles doesn’t wake up until Derek’s already back in bed, breakfast on a tray with the coffee on the bedside table. Stiles likes those mornings. They share crispy bacon and sticky sweet kisses.

He knows Derek can hear him as he moves closer — Derek probably picked up on the change in Stiles’ breathing as soon as he woke up — but he carries on with what he was doing, pouring the coffee into a mug. Derek doesn’t flinch when Stiles comes up behind him, draping the blanket over both of them and wrapping his arms around Derek’s middle.

"Hey," Stiles says, rubbing his cheek against Derek’s back.

"Morning." Derek turns around in Stiles’ arms and smiles. "Coffee?"

Stiles nods sleepily, taking the mug from Derek’s hands. It’s quiet outside, the sun just starting to shine through the windows. If Stiles looks over Derek’s shoulder, he can see the preserve stretching out for miles, occasionally spotting a bunny hopping through the land. It’s everything he never knew he wanted, and he sips at his coffee, enjoying the way Derek noses at his cheek.

"Want to go upstairs?" Derek asks quietly.

Stiles fumbles to put the coffee mug on the counter and wraps the blanket around Derek’s shoulders, using it to pull him closer. “In a minute,” he says, brushing their mouths together. “In a minute.”


	21. Take These Broken Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles, G.

Derek's dad had a huge collection of vinyl — things he picked up over the years, gifts from family members, remnants of a wilder youth. Old records have a certain smell, and Derek remembers being in secondhand shops with his dad, being lifted up and held steady as his fumbling fingers flipped through the colourful sleeves.

The guys behind the counter would grin at him indulgently, ask him if he liked Led Zeppelin or The Who more, what he thought about The Rolling Stones still touring and Derek would hide his face in his dad's coat, not sure how to answer. He knew there was a _right_ answer, he just didn't know what it was.

His dad's record player sat in the corner of the living room, the records took up a whole wall, with more in the study. Derek remembers learning to read with Smoke On The Water playing in the background, can picture the way his dad would whisk his mom around the room to All My Love, Laura shaking up a storm to Bargain, her hair falling in front of her face.

Derek remembers the smell of the vinyl as it burned.

He keeps his car radio tuned to the local classic rock station, scowling any time anything from the 90s is played. Stone Temple Pilots are not classic rock, not really. Stiles always gives him a small smile whenever he catches Derek muttering that and Derek's not sure why.

*

"Here," Stiles says, handing him a bag and leaning against the wall, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Derek frowns and reaches in, pulling out copies of Led Zeppelin II, Blood On The Tracks, Exile On Main Street and Tommy.

"I know it's not much, can't be everything, but — you can start again?"

"How did you know?" Derek asks, running his fingers across the sleeves.

"Your face when you listen to them. It's the same face my dad gets when he hears Aerosmith."

"Aerosmith?"

"My mom," Stiles says with a grin. "She drove him mad playing Permanent Vacation."

Derek shakes his head. "Interesting taste."

"Dude, I knew the lyrics to Rag Doll before I knew the lyrics to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. She, uh, she got to see them before she —" Stiles cuts himself off, joins Derek on the couch. "When she came home and said she still loved Joe Perry, I got really mad and asked if that meant she didn't love my dad any more."

"What did she say?"

"That she loved my dad, but that Joe Perry was hot," Stiles laughs. "I was outraged, but she had this grin on her face and I — I'm glad I got to have that. Got to see her as a person, not only as my mom."

"Yeah," Derek says, slipping Exile out of the sleeve and turning it over in his hands.

"Do you even have a record player?"

"Nope."

"Oh." Stiles leans back on the couch, his shoulder brushing against Derek. "I guess I should've checked before I — these are pretty useless as a gift."

"No," Derek says softly. "No they're not."


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles, M. Originally posted [here](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/62563829329/derek-crawls-out-of-bed-before-stiles-heads). (nsfw photo)

Derek crawls out of bed before Stiles, heads downstairs and makes them both coffee. When he comes back upstairs, a mug in either hand, Stiles has kicked the blankets off and is lying on his back, head tilted backwards slightly, his neck exposed. He wriggles a little and Derek knows he’s awake, knows that the curving of his lips is a sign for Derek to climb on top of him.

He puts the mugs on the bedside table and slowly covers Stiles’ body with his own, hiding a smile at the way Stiles is still feigning sleep. The plaid pyjama bottoms Stiles was sleeping in rub against Derek’s skin, all soft and familiar. It only takes the slightest touch of Derek’s lips to Stiles’ neck for Stiles to give up the pretence, for his mouth to drop open and for his hands to start to travel down Derek’s skin. His calloused hands touch every inch of Derek’s back, sliding down until he’s resting his palms against Derek’s ass.

Stiles’ eyes are still closed, but there’s a smirk on his face as Derek licks his skin, biting down on Stiles’ neck and relishing the way his pulse jumps. It’s never got boring — playing with Stiles like this — never been something that Derek’s ever grown tired of. He kisses the corner of Stiles’ mouth and shifts slightly, a lazy roll of his hips that has Stiles’ fingers digging into his ass and — it’s good. It’s them.

He watches Stiles’ eyes slowly open and he’s struck, again, by how alert he can be so quickly, by the way the light hits his eyes and almost makes them glow. Derek grazes his mouth against Stiles’, the stale taste of morning breath filling his senses as they kiss, as they slowly rock against each other in the search for cosy morning orgasms like they’ve done a hundred times before.

Later, they’ll clean up and curl up in bed naked, sipping their cold coffee because neither of them wants to get out of bed again. But for now, it’s little gasps, bitten off moans, and the feeling that Derek wants this forever.


End file.
